


'fuck you' flowers

by mssjynx



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Flowers, M/M, VDayBBSEvent, Valentine's Challenge, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 19:43:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13771188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mssjynx/pseuds/mssjynx
Summary: prompt: "I’m a florist, and you just came in asking me for ‘fuck you’ flowers on Valentine’s day. How is someone this mad so attractive at the same time?”-valentine's day is a florist's favourite time of the year: happy smiles, cheerful conversations and good vibes pretty much everywhere. it's a bit of a surprise to evan when a particularly odd customer storms in with a glare in his eyes and a scowl on his face, asking for a rather strange collection of flowers.





	'fuck you' flowers

**Author's Note:**

> h2ovanoss oneshot - [ florist! au (valentine's day) ]  
> warnings: none  
> 3477 words  
> \--  
> my gift to @bananabussquad-er on tumblr, and my result of a valentine's day event. hope you enjoy!

Valentine’s Day was the most exciting time of the year for a florist. The days leading up to it were filled with the chiming doorbell and phone’s ringtone. Notebooks fill with names, numbers, orders and times, conversations passed back and forth between workers and excited customers.

Evan loved it. The many years he’d owned his flower store, lining walls and shelves with unimaginable colours and species, his favourite time of the year was always February. He couldn’t get enough of the happy smiles and cheerful conversations. Men and women wandered in over the days, some leaving with bouquets, some leaving with mental lists. There was never a face that entered without a smile or shimmering eyes and he didn’t want the weeks to end.

His co-worker Brock worked alongside him throughout the busy days, answering the phone with excited words. He, like Evan, adored the romantic event. Though neither man had a significant other to spend the day exclusively with, spending time at the shop was all they wanted.

It was a favourite of the customers, especially, to have the large whiteboard to the side of the counter, lined with images and names of certain flowers. Pretty curled writing explained their meanings and significance, and the list covered at least forty flowers offered by the store, each related to the romance-saturated day.

Customers would examine it each day, spending at least a moment or two reading, maybe asking either Brock or Evan questions about those that caught their eye. The days were full of purchases and positive vibes, the flowers glowing proudly beneath interested gases. It was the most attention they received and they basked in their own colours and pride.

The store was just happier and Evan loved it. There was never a moment he spent feeling anything less than overjoyed.

So on the fourteenth of February, late in the afternoon, it came as a surprise when a customer appeared, a frown on his face, seeping an aura of complete and utter fury. Evan paused, cheerful welcome stuck on his tongue as he noticed the thick furrowed brows above anger-filled eyes. He stormed through the door, delivering a dirty look to the plants on display; the florist expected them to wilt right then and there.

The customer was the only one in the store and Evan backed up the aisle slowly until he could see Brock at the counter. They shared a silent conversation, Evan sticking out his bottom lip and raising his brows. His hands lifted in a voiceless, “What do I do?” and Brock just shrugged, flicking his fingers towards the Canadian in a motion of, “Get your butt over there and do your job.”

So he did. Edging his way back down the aisle, he stepped heavy and loud to make his approach audible. He could hear the muttering and murmuring of the oddly-irritated stranger on the other side of the shelf and when he got to the end he took a second to analyse the man where he was crouched, looking over a collection of lilies with his fingers settled thoughtfully on his jaw. From where he peeked around the corner Evan could practically see dark clouds radiating from the guy; clouds of hatred and fury and overall negativity.

It made no sense to see someone such as this in his flower store on Valentine’s Day and despite Evan’s wariness of the guy, he couldn’t deny his curiosity as he plucked up the courage and casually started walking towards the man.

“Hi!” The man was too focused on glaring at the flowers’ name tags to notice Evan’s welcoming smile. “Welcome to the Owlery, can I help you find somethi-”

“Do these flowers mean things?” Evan blinked. The voice that cut his sentence in half was jagged and heavy. It matched the man’s behaviour, a bit quirkier than your average flower customer, and when the man looked up to him with his big blue eyes Evan didn’t even register the rudeness of his interruption. His silence was taken as confusion and the man stood, running a hand through short hair and still visually agitated. He waved a hand carelessly at the flowers in front of him. “Do they, uh, have meanings?” He jammed his hands in the pockets of his jacket, eyes still jumping around. In his frustration he didn’t seem capable of focusing on anything.

Evan, still shocked by the voice and words of the other, just stared. He didn’t think much of the actual scene happening around him until the stranger let his eyes linger on him for a moment, studying his face.

His frown deepened. “Do you work here?”

The florist realised he how stupid he looked, staring and ignoring every word that dropped from the customer’s mouth. He jolted back to the real world, blinking rapidly and clearing his throat. “Y-yeah, I do- sorry! Yes, um, yes; all flowers have specific meanings that vary between species, and between the colours of certain species.” Words he’d spoken many times before rolled off his tongue and he took a careful step back, trying not to look too closely at the face of the brash stranger. “We have a chart up the front with special flowers and their meanings that relate to Valentine’s if that’s something you are looking for?”

The man didn’t have an answer for him, nor a simple explanation or description. Instead, he let his squinted stare linger for a moment more before he turned and strode to the front of the room. He seemed sceptical in the offer and Evan couldn’t read whether it was determination or desperation that urged this guy to find what he was looking for. Watching him go, he decided it was a mix of the two.

The florist snapped around to avert his eyes when he noticed them drift to the tall stranger’s behind, face burning in shame. The guy was attractive, despite his infuriation. He was so odd and unexpected; Evan had paid unnaturally close attention to his face. Milky pale skin wore freckles like shattered constellations. The lips that were pulled into a permanent frown were pink and full and those big glimmering eyes looked like the ocean and the sky simultaneously. His skin looked smooth, soft around the structure of his face; Evan guessed that if the man wasn’t frowning he would have looked rather pretty and approachable, but the scowl on his face pulled his feature’s tight and sharp.

Not that it made him look ugly or unlikeable. No, Evan’s interest hadn’t wavered. The furrowed brows and pinched lips made him look, dare he say, pretty fucking hot.

His face was burning, but this man was a customer and Evan had to do his job.

He turned, exhaling heavily, and followed where the mysterious man had walked to, finding him studying the whiteboard closely, forefinger and middle finger tapping at his lips. When Evan returned to his side, he could hear a disapproving hum and didn’t acknowledge Brock’s curious stare as the man stood upright and turned to Evan.

“Why are all these flowers so- s-so fucking happy?” he stammered, glaring between the cursive words and Evan’s shocked expression.

Was this guy for real? “I’m, er- Sir, it’s Valentine’s Day. Today is about love.” The florist nodded at the board, unsure if he needed to spell it out to why they were advertising the more romantic and sweeter flowers.

It seemed it wasn’t necessary and Evan almost gaped as the full-grown, at least twenty-five-year-old man scrunched up his nose and made a sound of knowing irritation. Evan’s explanation hadn’t exactly surprised the customer, but that looked to be what had disappointed him as he turned his back to the chart and glared around at the rest of the shop.

Evan hovered, unsure what to say or do. “Can I- Can I help you find something in particular?” he inquired.

His answer came in the form of vibrant blue eyes and the tip of an index finger hitting the whiteboard. “I need flowers.”

The florist bit back the sarcastic remark of, “Well that much is obvious,” and opted just to nod silently. The other seemed too caught up in his thoughts to notice the uncertain glance he shot to Brock who was trying not to snicker.

“But,” he continued, “flowers that aren’t nice, like- like flowers that mean ‘I hate you’ or ‘Fuck you’ or- or…” His words trailed off, Evan noticing pale fingers curling into fists. The man started walking, storming down the middle aisle with all the taller flowers meant to be sorted into bouquets. He gestured violently, almost smacking Evan in the shoulder. “I need something to give my _dickhead_ of a boyfriend- a ex-boyfriend! Motherfucker thought I- I’d forgive him if he _told_ me he’d been cheating on me instead of me finding out myself! Thought telling me on fucking Valentine’s Day I’d be happy to forget he’d been sleeping with that- with that _bitch_ for the last three months!”

Evan turned back around, wide eyes meeting Brock’s. Both men shared a moment of shock before the Canadian returned his attention to the infuriated man. He’d gotten himself worked up just speaking about his ex and Evan felt a pang of sympathy for him. His situation sounded heartbreaking and the level of anger that pulsed from his words told Evan that the event had more of an effect on him than he would have liked to admit.

The words kept flowing though, Evan feeling no need to interrupt as he stepped around him and continued walking. The man followed as he scanned the shelves, names and meanings buzzing around his head. He picked out little plastic potted plants, holding them gently in his arms as he moved.

“So I wanna get him flowers, but passive-aggressive flowers that _look_ nice but don’t mean nice things!” He paused in his thought, back-tracking. “Actually, they don’t have to look nice. The uglier the flowers, the better. Ugly like his face and his attitude and the STIs he’s picked up from fuckin’ prostitutes!”

It wasn’t exactly the time to laugh but there was just something about the man that made him smile to himself. The poor guy seemed to be drowning heartbreak beneath his anger and his rambling, incomplete sentences were seeming to do the job. When Evan turned back to him, six plastic-pots held in one arm and a gentle smile on his face the customer took a moment to stop breathing so heavy and get a good look at the man helping him out.

His blue eyes jumped all over Evan’s face, the Canadian not bothered at all as he was very blatantly checked out. It gave him a few extra seconds to look into the fragments of sky he wore in his eyes. Evan watched as the anger seemed to melt. The flames died and sharp features softened. Evan found a pretty face looking back at him, filled with surprise. Feeling the need to avoid awkward air, he nodded down at the collection he had gathered and reluctantly, the customer glanced down also.

“Here’s what I can find for you in the Owlery,” Evan started, taking a step to move past the man. “Come to the front and I’ll explain them for you.”

The man didn’t interrupt, nor did he respond with an abrupt refusal. Instead he hummed a soft, “Mhm,” and followed Evan. Brock acknowledged the approach before they were there and ducked out the back to give the two of them space to speak.

Pretty eyes watched Evan sit each pot down carefully, his touch and hold on them tender as though if he set one down too roughly it would break and die in seconds. The florist spaced them all out, leaning back against the counter beside them as the customer hovered by the whiteboard.

“Okay so this is what we’ve got.” He grabbed a stack of sticky notes and a pen, scribbling quickly. Neat words decorated the six blue squares that he stuck to the pots, and he turned to grin at the customer. “So,” he began, ignoring the fact that the man had already been watching him closely, “A columbine means adultery, foolishness, ingratitude, etcetera.” The two-layered flower looked pretty, purple petals spread to show off the soft white ones in the middle. He moved to hover his finger over the next. “A petunia,” deceivingly pretty, “means anger and resentment.” The customer stared at them all; calculating, analysing. “The tansies translate to ‘I declare war on you’.” It was hard to believe the little yellow flowers were anything less than overjoyed. Evan watched his expression change; pinching of his lips, squinting of his eyes. He blinked curiously at the dark purple flower, a rather ugly one. “Fumitories mean anger also: they translate to ‘I’ve expelled you from my thoughts’. And a lobelia means hostility or, more directly, malevolence.” The blue of the lobelia looked angry and harsh and Evan couldn’t see a more perfect plant for the ocean-eyed man before him. He acknowledged the last one, white and fuzzy. “And meadowsweet,” he offered a lopsided smile, those angry eyes softening with each flower and definition, “means useless.”

Evan stared stunned as, unexpectedly, a grin broke out across the man’s face. His hands leapt together, rubbing in a comically ridiculous manner. “It’s perfect!” he exclaimed, the Canadian blinking in surprise. This guy had gone from fuming to ecstatic in less than a few seconds. Was he even real? “Ohh, this is perfect, it’s amazin’, it’s flawless!”

He crowded closer to both Evan and the flowers, bending down to their level and examining them with a gleeful grin on his face.

“They’re all perfect!” He sounded child-like in his excitement, going as far to bounce on the balls of his feet as he turned to Evan. “Can I get them all?”

He took a hesitant step back, glancing at the row of flowers. “In a bouquet?” The hasty nodding and wide grin was his only response as the man clapped to himself. Evan didn’t even realise he was wearing that amused smile until he disappeared to put them all on their shelves and go out the back. Brock met him halfway, flowers already tied with a small bag of water around their roots. He pushed the bundle into his hands along with the red and white plastic sheets and a ribbon, giving him a nudge back to the counter with a grin.

“Go get ‘im, Cowboy,” he murmured and Evan kicked him in response, rolling his eyes.

He worked on the bench against the wall, wrapping and tying as he heard the man wander around the shop. When he had the bouquet ready, he turned to find those blue eyes watching him again, the customer at the bench with another flower sitting in front of him. Pale hands stayed behind his back as though refusing to touch the new addition, a light pink ranunculus flower.

“Would you like to get that one as well?” he inquired, watching the customer’s eyes flitter back and forth from the little flower, Evan’s curious watch and the whiteboard. The symbolism of ranunculus, better known as buttercups, had slipped his mind but he knew they had something to do with romance (especially seeing as they were one of the Valentine’s recommendations). It was odd, comparing them to the bundle he’d made for the man, but this guy was no ordinary customer; he was in no place to make judgement.

The man opened his mouth to speak but after a few seconds of struggling to think of his wording, he pursed his lips and nodded. He wasn’t grinning or fuming anymore, instead looking kind of uncomfortable. His cheeks were flushed lightly pink.

Evan just nodded, mentally shrugging as he rung up the purchase and handed the bouquet to him. He offered a smile when they met eyes. “One bouquet full of hatred, anger and uselessness.” His cheerful tone had a small smile lifting at the customer’s lips and Evan was surprised at how silent and small he’d gotten in only a few moments. Though he wanted to question it, he barely knew this guys name, so with a touch of reluctance, he pushed the plastic-potted buttercup towards him. “And one pink buttercup. Thirty-seven ninety-five, thanks.”

The money was paid, receipt was printed and Evan grinned.

“Enjoy your Valentine’s day, er…” he trailed off, hoping for the other to catch the hint. Blue eyes flashed in surprise.

“Jo-Jonathan,” he blurted, biting his lip at the volume he’d spoken at.

Evan let a soft laugh slip from his lips, genuine smile on his face. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Jonathan.”

“Thank you, thanks a lot- I, er, hope you have a good day too!” The rushed goodbye fell between them as the man stepped back.

“Evan.” His name fought its way out of his mouth and he almost hit himself. “My name’s, um- my name is Evan. It was nice to meet you.” It wasn’t even asked for and he told him, forced the guy to know his name. It came to a surprise that a shy smile lifted between rosy cheeks, fingers curled around the plastic pot like it would shatter in seconds, while the bouquet was forgotten, carelessly tucked under one arm.

Jonathan nodded. “Thank you,” he answered, hesitation battling with the finality of his voice. He forced himself to turn around, hesitating again before he walked down the aisle towards the front. Evan sighed heavily, unable to stop himself from watching the other man leave.

The door held open, ringing the bell above, but the man stopped. Evan frowned. There was a moment where he just stared out the door, his expression completely unknown to the florist who just watched curiously.

Then he turned.

Jonathan, the very odd and quirky customer, faced Evan and let the door go as he strode back the way he’d come. His lips were set in a determined line, face positively crimson as he glared at the counter, unable to look up at the man behind it.

“Do you, er- can I please ha-have a note?” he forced out, words stumbling over each other with a yearning to finish his job and escape the situation.

Evan’s brows lifted and he offered the sticky notes and a pen silently. He watched as the man set down the plant and scribbled on a sticky note, sliding the pad so hard across the counter it hit Evan’s hip and fell to the ground. He backed away, leaving the ranunculus swaying where it sat.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Evan.” And he turned, rushing back towards the door. Evan paused, frozen at the strange behaviour.

He raised a hand, blinking down at the flower. “J-Jonathan!” he called, the other hesitating halfway out the door to turn back, clutching the bouquet with white knuckles. “You forgot your…”

The man rapidly shook his head. “No I didn’t,” was all he managed to get out before he let the door shut behind him and literally ran from the front of the store.

Evan stared at the flower for a second, eyes wide and head full of confusion. After a few moments of silence, he crouched down and picked up the pad of sticky notes, flipping it over to see a row of random numbers. Brown eyes slowly returned to the happy pink head of the layered flower.

“Ranunculus.” He didn’t need to turn his head, running a fingertip along the rippled top of it. Brock let out a little laugh. “Translation of ‘I am dazzled by your charms’.” His cheeks glowed pink, footsteps drawing close next to him. “Y’know, I’m surprised he didn’t go for a rose or something more cliché. Guess that board was a good idea then?”

Evan’s head was blank, numbly nodding as he picked up the flower. Jonathan’s number grinned up at him, welcoming yet hasty. The flower just bobbed and glowed, flashing its colours with nothing below pride.

‘I am dazzled by your charms’. Well that explained the red cheeks and embarrassed behaviour. Just to check, he leant forward and scanned the whiteboard, finding that exact definition beside the name of the pretty flower.

When he stood up straight again, his lips held a soft smile, hand settling on his cheeks to feel the heat radiating off them.

‘I am dazzled by your charms’.

“I’ll take the shop on Thursday. You take him out for the day,” Brock intercepted his blank mind, putting thoughts in there for him as he cleaned up the bench and grinned cheekily at his friend and co-worker. “He seems like the guy who’d enjoy an amusement park or some sort of adventure, don’t you think?”

The florist found himself nodding, smile permanent on his face and only growing brighter. “Yeah,” he said, “Yeah, he does.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> feedback always appreciated, let me know what you guys like and want more of! <3  
> gi


End file.
